


The Trouble in Paradise Job

by Valawenel



Category: Leverage
Genre: Action/Adventure, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valawenel/pseuds/Valawenel
Summary: An unknown enemy zoning on the team, and they have no idea why. Nor will they find out. Only thing they can do is to deal with that trouble.Yet, what can Sophie and Parker do alone, while Hardison and Nate are too far away, and Eliot in trouble?Well, everything needed. And then some more.In Eliot's oponion, a waaaay too much.





	The Trouble in Paradise Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [D890MB279](https://archiveofourown.org/users/D890MB279/gifts).



> Hey M :D  
>  I used a general tone of your request, instead of going for a single prompt.  
> In fact, your prompt no.1 would be a base for this.  
> (1. I would love to a fic that puts Eliot in some kind of danger, either hurt or where he is unable to escape and you would have to one of the other characters step a bit from their own title to handle the situation - such as Hardison having to step up and away from the computer monitors and handle the situation (similar to when he busted the bouncer in the Boys Night Out. I don't want Hardison to become Eliot, but would like to see how far you could get the characters to go when one of their own is down and out.)
> 
> I hope you'll like it <3

 

THE TROUBLE IN PARADISE JOB

 

Chapter 1

 

 

***

 

The trouble started at night like all troubles usually started. Slowly, inch by inch, revealing only a glimpse at first, never letting him see the entire picture.

But Eliot Spencer was on a first name basis with troubles of all sort, except this one. This nasty bastard of a trouble messed with relationships. Feelings. Icky stuff.

He wouldn’t touch it with a mile-long stick if only it didn’t involve people he loved.

First, he noticed Hardison’s sulky faces at the morning briefings. The hacker was usually all chirpy early-bird obnoxious at the morning gatherings, except when he played his orkish games all night. Yet not even Hardison could wave his mighty sword every night, six nights in a row.

The next thing was the glances. Normal Hardison would make a show of his sideways looks at someone, never hiding it – and that usually included wide open eyes – but this Hardison darted hidden glances.

This morning the trouble was particularly obvious. It started as a normal briefing, all five of them at the long table facing the screens. The screens showed an endless row of small sea turtles flapping their way to the ocean. The team all just endured Hardison’s thirty minute long speech about using rotating lights to help them find their way safely. In the middle of that, Eliot was ready to go there and shovel them all into the water, just to avoid Hardison’s technicalities. Besides, sea turtles had nothing to do with their current job.

Sophie and Nate sat on the far right, Parker in the middle, Eliot next, and Hardison at the far left.

“Hardison and I are leaving in an hour,” Nate said. “Hardison will set all his tracking and recording things, and I’ll make our Miss Tuesday talk about numbers. Hardison, you do remember our real job today? The one without any turtles in it?”

Hardison grumbled under his breath.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sophie said. “You’ll be back for dinner?”

Nate checked his watch. “Not sure, but probably.”

Hardison said nothing.

Eliot glanced at the hacker on his left, and met his glance directed to the right.

“I’ll organize the charity lunch today, since none of us have anything to do,” Eliot said when silence spread, and Nate frowned at the rest of his team while waiting for some input.

“I’ll go shopping,” Sophie quickly said.

“No, you won’t.” He crossed his arms. “You’ll join us, and you’ll enjoy it.”

 ‘Us’ meant him and Parker, as the only ones left. Yet, when he looked at Parker to see her eventual nod, he frowned even harder than Nate did.

Parker drew circles on a piece of paper, not paying any attention to the conversation.

“Parker, we’re hosting a charity lunch,” he said. On his left, the sense of Hardison’s gaze passing by him was so strong he almost leaned back to avoid it.

Parker raised her eyes from the paper, thought a moment, then nodded.

Hell no.

What was going on between those two?

Next time he was definitely sitting anywhere but between the hacker and the thief. This kind of a sandwich left a dry taste in his mouth.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Nate was wearing his basilisk stare, the one that kept you feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights on a highway. The one which felt like he observed every tiny wheel spinning inside your head.

Sophie, on the other hand, went to the opposite, spreading the warmest smile on her face. Sharks would smile that way when sniffing blood, if they could smile at all. Or sniff. He wasn’t sure about the sniffing.

Hardison lowered his head and started rearranging the three portable rotation lights he was trying to connect to his tablet.

Parker glanced at the hacker – her gaze passing in front of Eliot’s nose with a _swoosh_ – and then continued her circles.

Hardison raised his head, looked at her – _swoosh_ from another direction – and pulled out his phone.

Parker left her pen, glanced sideways - _swoosh_ – and Eliot pushed his chair backwards to jump on his feet.

“If ya’ll don’t have anything important to add to that Miss Tuesday job, I’m outta here. Starting preparations for the lunch.”

“Go on, go on,” Sophie waved her hand, not letting her gaze waver from the pair. “Enjoy yourself.”

“But not too much,” Nate added. His chair seemed to be at least fifty inches further to the right than it was before.

Nate was another one who found no joy in icky relationship stuff. If Eliot knew him at all, his mind was working on eleven retreat plans. At the same time.

Today, Eliot felt merciful. “Would you mind joining me for a minute?” he said. “I need a word with you for tomorrow’s part of the plan.”

Nate was on his feet at ‘would you’. “Sure.”

They met at the door, fumbling for a second to see who would be the first one to pass through it to safety, then slipped through and closed the door shut.

For a moment, they both stood on the other side of the door, looking at each other.

The next moment, without a word, they turned and went separate ways.

 

***

 

The hour before Nate and Hardison left was, unfortunately, enough time for Eliot to think through that escape, and regret it. Even icky stuff was sometimes worth discussing when friends were in question.

He waited until Parker wandered off somewhere, followed by Sophie who sailed past him like a hound on a fresh trail, then he returned to the briefing room.

Hardison was still sitting there. Rotating lights stood packed in a bag, and his typing seemed slower than usual.

Eliot sat in Nate’s place, on the far right, to avoid any possibility of hugging or on-the-shoulder-crying.

“Listen up,” he said.

Hardison looked at him.

“You have exactly three minutes to tell me what’s going on, and if there is something any of us can do. That’s all I allow. If you pass up this opportunity, you’re not allowed to breach that subject ever again, no matter what happens. Understood?”

Hardison’s grin was, at least, his usual grin. No trembling chins for now.

“Are you completely sure?” Hardison asked.

“Of course not. Don’t be an idiot. I hate this. Three minutes, starting – now.”

“She leaves in the middle of the night,” Hardison said. “She thinks I don’t notice, and she hides it from me, returning before morning and pretending she slept the whole night in our bed. I didn’t ask her what was going on, just asked a few questions about her sleeping pattern, waiting for her to tell me on her own terms – and she lied. She said she sleeps well every night. Parker never lies. I thought she didn’t know how – but it’s more of ‘didn’t know _why_ she should lie’. And that was the most beautiful thing about her. Her sincerity. I don’t know what to do. She looks at me with those eyes sometimes – the last week or two all the time – and, and… it feels like pity in her eyes.” Hardison swallowed, hesitated, then went on. “She bought a house. I know I shouldn’t have spied on her, but that’s my job. That’s why I’m good at it – I track everything. She bought it last week, and her withdrawal intensified. I’m afraid she doesn’t even pay attention when she sneaks out at night, as if she doesn’t care if I notice or not. She’ll move away, I just know it. She just doesn’t know how to tell me yet. Her ropes and harnesses are missing, and every day I find more of her things gone. You know how it feels? Like a picture of too small a resolution, with huge pixels that fly away one by one. Pixel by pixel, the picture is disappearing, until all that’s left is—“

“Time’s up,” Eliot said. It wasn’t, but he had to stop Hardison from spiraling into technical metaphors. “Basically, you think she’s had enough of this relationship thingy, and she’s about to bail out?”

Hardison twitched. That was an answer itself.

“There’s nothing I can do if that’s the case.”

“I don’t remember asking you to do anything. You wanted to know what was going on. I told you. Simple as that. May I now go back to my job?”

Eliot tapped his fingers on the table.

“You know what…” he said. “I’ll give it a try this evening. After the lunch, while you and Nate are still gone, she’ll probably go there and do whatever she does there. I’ll go and take a look. Nothing more. If it really looks like she’s moving out, I’ll tell you.”

“And that would help, how?”

“Who said anything about helping? You’ll at least know for sure where you stand.”

Hardison’s gaze, for a long second, gained a suspicious Nate-ish quality. “Sure, if that’ll make you feel better,” he said lightly.

Damn. Hardison was too good at reading him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stood up. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me before you go.”

For the second time this day, his departure looked like retreat. He didn’t like it at all.

 

***

 

There was still a chance Parker was only bored. Or she was restless. Or both. Or maybe she hated – or loved – Portland that much that she had to study it better, circling around the town at night, breathing it, knowing it.

All that, though, didn’t explain the house.

After Hardison and Nate left, Eliot took a break from kitchen preparations to check the briefing room again.

No sign of Parker. Sophie was in the big chair in front of the screens, reading a magazine, but he passed her by, going to the stairs that led to Hardison’s apartment on the upper floor.

There she was. Parker sat on the stairs, operating a small, bright red drone up and down, up and down. On a stair beside her knee stood a duffel bag.

“Going out, Parker?” he asked.

“In a minute.”

“You’ll be back before the lunch starts?”

“What lunch?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and slowly inhaled. “We’re closing the pub for today, and opening it for homeless people. Free lunch, starting in three hours. I already told you, I need you to help me and be there.”

“Oh.” She flew the drone above his head, and then sent it up and through the doors of the apartment. The irritating buzz stopped. “Okay, I’ll be there,” she said. “I’ll return on time.”

He schooled his face into an empty smile. “Where are you going?”

“Not far. I have to do something quick, be back in twenty.”

He hoped it was twenty minutes, and not twenty hours.

“I’m counting on you,” he said, and returned to the main room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her running up the stairs to the apartment.

Well, maybe all of this was just a projection of Hardison’s fear, nothing more. Parker always behaved as if lowered with a beam of light from some space ship – a space ship that quickly flew off after that, hiding their tracks, throwing little asteroids after themselves so she couldn’t follow them back home.

He saw nothing unusual. Parker’s weirdness was just slightly weirder. Hardison maybe panicked in vain.

“You’re really considering getting involved in that, aren’t you?”

Sophie’s voice drew him from his thinking. The grifter observed him above the magazine, her eyes soft and sharp – a combination impossible for anyone except Sophie.

“Yeah. Maybe. Probably. Why?”

“Why? Making it worse comes to mind. Are you sure you’ll help, and not just speed it all up?”

“Speed what up?”

She let out an exasperated sigh and lowered the magazine. “I want in.”

He bit his tongue on ‘in what?’, and thought for a second. “Why?”

“That’s what I do. And I’m also not sure you won’t do something stupid. You’re prone to…” She trailed off, and he saw her mentally biting her own tongue. “You tend to be somewhat dramatic when relationships are in question,” she ended lightly, with a smile.

Bullshit.

But he thought better of it and decided that changing the subject might be a good idea. “Anyway, my plan is – for now – to check that new house of hers. Maybe we find some benign explanation.”

“New house?” She frowned. “That doesn’t sound benign at all.”

“It’s Parker.”

“Ah. Yes. When?”

“This evening. I’ll give her something to do after the lunch, or I’ll call Hardison to keep her at his computer, as if helping him.”

“I’ll be there,” she said and raised the magazine again.

He wasn’t sure what to think about this reinforcement.

 

***

 

For Sophie Devereaux, life was full of frontiers and horizons. When she dared to step onto a frontier, a new horizon opened and spread before her, far, far away in the distance. Rinse and repeat. Life was learning, and growing, and spreading. Stepping further and further away from her core, through numerous frontiers.

Maybe this was her next frontier.

Dozens of homeless people stood in line before her, waiting for food. Patient, calm, used to waiting, they accepted the bowls she gave them with smiles and thanks, but their glances darted all around. They flew from bowl to bowl, touching only food, never other people, never faces. Their fingers clutched, not held.

Her Jimmy Choo shoes could feed an entire homeless camp for months.

She looked at the feverish eyes of an old man and put a bowl of chicken soup in his hands. His grateful smile hit her. Her mood dropped more, lower with every smile she received. The weight of those smiles accumulated until the very air around her felt heavy and—

“Sophie, we need more soup. Go get some.”

She looked at the other end of the counter, where Eliot waved his hand toward the kitchen. This was his brilliant idea. Usually she would be happy seeing his broad smile, if she wasn’t worried about all attention this charity could attract. But Nate approved it, and their fearless leader was very cautious when their identities were in question.

This time, it was their security expert who seemed to forget that being a special treat on the FBI most wanted list didn’t get well with dozens and dozens of people let freely roam through their Bridgeport Brew Pub. Eliot thought they were safe.

Eliot was usually right. _Usually_.

She sent him a level gaze that should’ve been read as _this is still a stupid idea and I’m not happy_.

“And that big box of cauliflower, while you’re at it,” he said.

“On my way,” she said and turned towards the kitchen.

Right in that moment, Parker – who was with them the first hour but then disappeared – passed through the main room and headed for the back door of the pub, with a drone in her hands.

“I have a better idea,” Sophie said. “We have enough staff – you come and help me with the soup.”

He nodded.

She scanned the room as she waited for Eliot to finish the last serving. People kept their heads low over their meal and nobody seemed interested in the people serving them.

Eliot passed her and opened the kitchen door, and she paused to set TV on old episodes of Magnum before following him.

She joined him at the back door.

“I picked them this morning,” he said, pointing at two large boxes of cauliflower by the door. “We’ll take them as if we came for them, and not to see…”

A falsetto humming came from the left, and she followed his gaze. Parker danced in the small backyard between delivery boxes and containers, and a drone danced five feet above her head.

As they watched her, Parker bent over boxes with various vegetables and pulled something from the box. She shook it and put it in her pocket.

“Is that…?” Sophie said.

“Yes. Onions. At least two.”

And both of them knew Parker couldn’t stand them.

Parker saw them and the drone tilted in the air in salute. She turned around then and headed along the backyard, going to the pub’s front entrance. Avoiding them in bigger circle was impossible, except by walking on the wall.

“Maybe it’s just a… phase?” Sophie said.

“She leaves at night and returns before dawn.”

“Just great.” She sighed. When Parker disappeared behind the pub’s corner, a family of five left the kitchen and stood by the door. 

The sound of their chatter – after a bleak silence surrounding them as they first arrived— would usually warm her heart, but this time her worry colored everything.

Without a word, they both walked away from the back door, went around the building and entered through the main door after Parker.

“We’ll finish this lunch and then do something,” she said to Eliot before they parted to their places behind the counter. “I’m sure there’s completely normal explanati—”

She cut her word in half when Eliot looked somewhere behind her. His eyes first glazed in shock, and then filled with despair. It was so terrifying to see him looking like that, that she stood frozen, for a moment not daring to turn around and face the thing he saw.

“What?” she whispered.

He didn’t even blink, frozen.

She swallowed and turned around to see…Parker.

She carried a scissors and a big branch full of shiny, dark green leaves.

“He said he didn’t mind,” Parker cheerfully chirped. She put the scissors in Eliot’s hand. He recoiled as if she gave him a bloody knife – and the scissors clanked on the floor.

Parker shrugged, put the branch over her shoulder, and left the pub.

Eliot flew to their briefing room. Sophie followed, her heart still thumping in her throat.

George stood – still alive, thank God – in his vase under the artificial light near the screens. A gaping hole on his right side, in the form of his biggest branch, couldn’t be hidden. Nor had Parker tried to hide it by turning him around or something.

“He, it…. He, you know,” she started, having no idea what to say. “It’s just a, uhm, a flesh wound. He looks fine.”

Eliot said nothing, still staring at his tree.

Sophie moved closer and observed the cut. Parker had put a Band-Aid on the stump. She didn’t know if should she laugh or cry.

“The crazy SOB really let her do that,” Eliot finally whispered.

“Excuse me?”

He turned to her, his eyes much calmer. “You’re right. He’ll be fine. Go back to help others, I got this.”

She shrugged, hesitated a second, then sighed. “Okay, if you think so.”

She went to the door but stopped before opening it. Eliot’s whisper wasn’t for her ears.

“We really need to talk about this shit,” he said under his breath.

George, peeking over his shoulder, sent her a reassuring smile.

She shook her head and left.

 

 

 

***+

 

After two hours they ran out of customers, and that eased Sophie’s worry that they might run out of food first. Amy Palavi and Eliot even packed leftovers for the last group to take with them.

Sophie helped their other staff with sorting dishes behind the counters. The ladies soon left.

“Excuse me,” a voice behind her said. A young, female voice.

Sophie turned around and put away the last of the cutlery she was sorting.

The woman was young, maybe thirty. A hunger in her eyes had nothing to do with hunger for food, yet her smile, uncomfortable and twisted, mirrored the smiles Sophie had received the whole afternoon.

Ashen blond hair was pulled up off her face, revealing her high cheekbones and long neck. Her clothes were neutral; many young homeless people wore decent clothes, so she couldn’t tell if the woman came here to eat, or… Then she caught a glimpse of an earring, a single pearl in gold. Even if fake, that earring was expensive.

Sophie wiped her hands and smiled at her. “How can I help you?” she said.

“I’m looking for Nate Ford,” the woman said. “My name is Crystal Akineko. I’m in trouble.”

“I’m sure Mr. Ford will be delighted to consult you. His service is indeed—”

“I need a different kind of help. I have to speak with him. I’m here with my uncle...” She motioned to a man standing by the door. Around fifty, in a suit, careful not to touch anything, and already eyed by Eliot. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Ford helped the Rodrigues family with their… problem.”

Rodrigues family? Oh, that small case that Nate and Eliot got involved in by accident. Two kids were threatened and blackmailed to join a gang and deal weed on the streets. They dealt with that in fifteen minutes, with one conversation and one medium fight.

When Sophie nodded, Crystal said, “Do you know where I can find him?”

Sophie didn’t have to call Eliot. He was already a step away from them.

Crystal Akineko’s eyes widen a little when she looked at him. “You’re Mr. Ford’s friend. You were there with him.”

“Yeah, I was around,” Eliot said, then looked at her. “Do you need anything else, Mrs. Devereaux? We’re closing for today.”

“Miss Akineko might want to set an appointment with Mr. Ford. Do you know when he will be back?” _You decide_. They could take a client if they wanted, but they were in the middle of a job now. No time for side jobs.

“I don’t expect him until late this evening. Tomorrow morning seems to be the best option. Do you have a message?”

Crystal tugged at the seam of her sleeve, and the eagerness in her eyes subsided. “Tell him Maria Rodrigues told me what he – what you did for her. I need… advice on a similar matter.”

“How urgent?”

“It can wait one night.” She smiled at Eliot, a quick twitch of her lips that escaped her.

Eliot looked over her shoulder at her uncle at the door. “And there’s no one who can give that advice except Ford?”

“The person in question is illegal. It’s... delicate.”

Eliot watched her for a moment. “We’re good at delicate things, but we need to know more.” His gaze swiveled around, over the several men finishing their meal. They were too close and able to hear them. “If your problem was a movie, how would you explain the setting and plot?”

An amused huff escaped her, but she followed his gaze and nodded.

“I’ll help you,” he continued. “A beautiful maiden in distress rides to Camelot seeking help from a wise Gawain—”

“Who?”

“A knight named Gavin. He already helped her friend Maria accused to be a witch…”

“Ah. Yes. Her sister is drawn to the company of magicians who hold her in their spell with… herbs and potions… and their lair is in the hills around the town, on a ridge. Only two, three hills away. They occupied an old abandoned farm with a small lake. Some people of power plan to build new castles there, for rich nobles, but for now, that farm is used for luring young girls…”

“How many magicians?”

“At least five. It’s less than twenty-five minute driv – ride from here. Perhaps you could…?”

“Not without the other knights, so tomorrow. But that would make a fine movie, my lady.”

“With a happy end?”

He stayed silent for a moment. “Everybody can come and share their burdens with Nate Ford,” he finally said. “However, sometimes that’s all it is. Sometimes, advice and counseling is all you can get.”

“I understand. And thank you.”

She nodded to Sophie – again that twitchy smile – and left them.

They both studied her as she joined her uncle and left. She moved like a dancer.

“So?” Sophie asked when the door closed after their visitors.

“That uncle stood like a bodyguard. We’ll see tomorrow when Nate gets her in his hands.” Eliot looked around them. No new people had come in, and the windows grew darker. “I’ll see the last people out and close everything down. You go home.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He joined Amy and helped her with packing the last meals.

Sophie took off her apron.

Yes, this had been a long day. Her horizons might’ve broadened, but she felt tired and depressed.

Their briefing room would be empty now. A perfect place to have a glass of wine and stretch her legs before heading home. No sad people around her, no hungry eyes.

She left the pub’s kitchen and took only five steps towards the briefing room when Parker almost bumped into her.

She was balancing three plates on top of the three packages she held, with only her nose and a bush of blond hair peeking out above it.

“Where are you going?” Sophie said.

Parker stopped.

“Oh, let me guess,” Sophie quickly went on. “You’re taking some snacks upstairs, right?”

The three packages, she noticed now, were printing papers.

Parker stood there not moving. She let her think.

“Yes,” Parker finally said.

“Do you want to have a glass of wine with me?”

Parker shifted from leg to leg. “No.”

Her discomfort caused Sophie’s unease to return. “Okay, I’ll leave you to do whatever you’re doing,” she said lightly.

Parker sprang forward in the middle of her sentence, and trudged away.

Her wine could wait. Sophie took her phone and hit speed dial.

“Hardison, if you can’t talk, cough.”

Instead of a cough, she got an exasperated sigh. “If I couldn’t talk, I wouldn’t have answered. I’m alone now, and pretty bored. Nate is in a deep conversation with our lovely Miss Tuesday, and all I do is sit and try not to listen – though my job is, in fact, to listen to them.  I have to teach you all to switch on and off your cameras and comms, so you won’t drag me along whatever trivial thing needs to be done. Today, I hit the _record_ key, whee. I could easily go around hunting turtles, and he wouldn’t even notice I was gone. What do you need?”

“You to stop talking?”

“You called me, which stands as an international message: I want to engage in a conversation, and then first thing you say is stop talking? You’re sending mixed signals and I’m not following you.”

“I really don’t know if you are a gift, or a punishment.”

“I’m bored. I had to listen Miss Tuesday explaining her manicure. Nate endured that too, but his suffering made it only partially bearable for me.”

She had to smile; there was no way she could stay serious while drowning in that river of words.

“We’ll check Parker’s new house tonight, and I need your help.”

Silence lasted for a couple of seconds.

“So, you’re in on that, too,” he finally said. “Okay, good, that’s fine. Good idea, in fact. While you’re at it, check the straw bales Parker carried to that house yesterday. Sending you the address as we speak. It’s only two streets away, practically around the corner.”

“Wait, what?” Straw bales, for Pete’s sake. “What else did you see?”

“A bag of cement. Bags with clothes.”

“Can you keep Parker busy tonight? Keep her upstairs by showing her some game or movie.”

“I won’t be there. Nate changed his plans. He and Miss Tuesday are meeting for dinner tonight, and guess who’s going to eat cold Chinese in Lucille while they lavish on— never mind. I can do something remotely. I’ll call her and tell her to check my console and my new surveillance program. I can lead her through several steps so you’ll know how long she’ll be occupied.”

“That’s perfect. I need just fifteen minutes to peek inside.” _And make sure she isn’t doing anything dangerous._ Though, something dangerous in this case would be much better than Parker moving out and leaving Hardison.

“What’s your plan?” Hardison said. “Going around Eliot, or with him?”

“You think we could manage to do something like this behind his back?”

“Hardly,” a soft voice behind her said.

She squinted. “I’ll call you back later with details. Have to go now.”

She cut the line right at the moment Hardison took a breath to reply, and turned to Eliot.

“Stop sneaking around.”

He frowned. “That’s my job.”

And what would be hers? Among other things, to make sure all members of their company were well. Yes, a happy ending of tonight’s adventure was a must.

“Hardison sent me the address. He’ll keep Parker here tonight, so we can sneak out and check the house.” She took a look at the message Hardison sent. “Three minute walk from here.”

A new idea hit her. She typed the address into Google maps and zoomed down. “Oh my.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“Yes. That house backs up on Cartier jewelry. Shares the same wall.” And straw bales could be used as a sound barrier and isolation.

“That’s good news.”

Yes, it was. Parker preparing a heist was much better than Parker leaving Hardison, but she found it funny that Eliot thought the same thing.

He scowled, realizing what he said, and turned on his heel to return to the kitchen.

Sophie put the phone back in her pocket, and headed for that wine.

 

***+

 

 

It was a rare occasion to see Sophie Devereaux so playful, so Eliot wouldn’t say a word about her theatrical approach to a simple problem. Get in, snoop around for a minute, get out and lock the door. No brainer. He could do it alone, yet letting her in the play seemed to be the right move.

He took a step deeper into maple shadows. The trees around Parker’s house also covered it from the main lights around the jewelry shop. The two of them were only vague shapes in the pattern the leaves made on the wall.

The alley was silent and empty, and her house was a tiny one story, old-fashioned little house squeezed between larger buildings.

Sophie wore black clothes and boots. She even made a show of saying her goodbyes to him and Parker, then roaring her engine so the five surrounding blocks could hear she really drove off. She made a circle before parking here on a back street, and was already waiting for him in the shadows. Parker probably didn’t hear her show at all, concentrating on her headphones and Hardison’s instructions.

The thief was happily busy at Hardison’s console, Sophie was in her heroic ninja mode, and Eliot seriously regretted his decision do this as a pair.

On the other hand, it was nice to see her so engaged.

She joined him in the deeper shadows, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “I still think we should’ve wore our earbuds,” she whispered. “Hardison could’ve warned us if Parker decided she had enough.”

“We don’t need them. It’s a one story place. We won’t likely get separated or lost. Why are you whispering?”

“It feels right.”

“Don’t. Besides, Parker might turn on Hardison’s surveillance program. It’s running in the background. What if she sees our com-lines green and active? I would check the position immediately if I were her.”

“We could call it a glitch in the system card.”

“Or we could just break in and be done with this?” The moment he said that, he bit his tongue. Grumbling at her, when she clearly enjoyed this little game, wasn’t the best move. He lowered his voice and continued. “If you’re completely sure you _want_ to see what she is hiding.”

Her shadow moved. She looked up at him. “Not completely,” she said. “But we’ll know what to do when we see it. Maybe it’s nothing.”

He pulled flashlights from his bag, and gave one to her. “Maybe. Now, be my guest.”

He stepped back, letting her go first.

“I thought she would have something complicated,” Sophie said while her hair pins felt the lock, “but clearly she didn’t have time to change the locks. Good for us.”

She didn’t make the mistake of turning the flashlight on. He listened to her moves. Every attempt was of the same speed. She didn’t rush after the tenth failed attempt, didn’t lose her patience. Many people would be cursing already, but not her. Slightly bent, feeling the pins and the lock, she steadily went on until finally the lock clicked.

He took a quick step forward, but forced himself to stop. Parker probably didn’t have anything dangerous inside – if she had anything even remotely interesting at all – and jumping before Sophie as a protective shield would only annoy her.

Just in case there was trouble, he kept himself two steps behind her.

He kept an eye on her. She felt her steps inside and waited for him to join her and close the door.

When she turned the flashlight on, she did it with her hand over the bulb. It gave just a reddish glow, enough for them to see around, but not visible from the outside.

“Do I get an A or F?” she said.

He grinned in the darkness. “Now you messed with my results. I don’t know if you are doing everything perfectly because you’re a natural, or because you know I’m studying you.”

“Ah, but isn’t that a core of your philosophy? That presumptions are better than facts in every dangerous situation?”

“I didn’t know I had a philosophy.”

She moved a finger off the bulb, and her hand glowed yellow. “Nate said you had. It was a kind of leader-ish proclamation.” She lowered her chin and deepened her voice. “Eliot Spencer would never— now insert something meaningful here— because he values his honor more than law, and his strive for justice more than his pride.”

He twitched, he couldn’t help it.  A man could never be sure with Sophie. She could tell five layers of deeper meaning while speaking about washing the dishes. Or maybe just his overthinking caused this unease he felt; her smile was open and broad. No hidden meanings this time.

“Speaking of our fearless leader,” he quickly said. “Do you think this dinner with Miss Tuesday was needed, or just a bonus?”

She shrugged his bait away. “I would be more concerned about Hardison’s turtle obsession. He took all his equipment, just in case. Have you seen any sea turtles near Portland?”

“You think he might drag us in on a search and rescue party?” he said.

“It’s Hardison. What do you think?” She motioned with the flashlight around, and shadows danced. “Now, shall we? Do you know what to search for?”

“Whatever catches your eye.”

And there wasn’t anything eye catching around them.

The small room was a sort of a living room with a tiny purple kitchen. A sofa, two chairs, boxes and bags, a shelf with books and DVDs.

“I don’t see the three plates she took from the kitchen,” she said, rummaging through the kitchen counters. “Not to mention straw bales or printing papers.”

“Bedroom next, then basement. Bathroom should be down there.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t look at me – those old houses are adjusted old stores and machine shops. All of them have basements. Probably old storage.”

“Weird,” she muttered. She went first to the bedroom, and he again stopped to let her go first. He could sweep the room in twenty seconds alone, leaving no stone unturned, but this was her show.

The bedroom was empty as well. Only a bed and one tall wardrobe were inside.

“So, whatever she’s hiding, it’s below us,” she said. For the first time since they entered, she stopped, hesitating.

“Wanna quit?”

“No. There are no windows down there. We can turn on the lights?”

“Only a small air vent on the back side.”

“We should hurry. Hardison didn’t say how long he would keep her occupied.”

She exposed a little more light for a second so Eliot could find a hatch in the wooden floor. The old wood screeched when he pulled it up.

Sophie peeked over his shoulder into the dark patch. “What should we expect?” she whispered. “Darkness, spiders, chains?”

Instead of a stale air, he smelled popcorn and pumpkins.

“Encouraging,” she said. Yet she didn’t move.

“May I?” he waved at her flashlight and she handed it to him without question. Another correct move. There was no point in her going first into something she’d never seen before. This was his part of the job.

“The stairs are steep, watch your steps.”

She waited until he was in the middle, then she stepped after him. As he climbed down, the circle of light grew wider.

The first thing they saw were straw bales in the corner, rearranged as a small hill. Wire in a shape of a ghost, half covered with gauze that danced in the wind from an air vent, hovered over the straw.

“Halloween decoration,” she said, relief clear in her voice.

He wasn’t sure that relief was justified or not.

The stairs ended in the middle of a room the same size as the one they left, but this one was a real living room. The soft, creamy yellow couch and two chairs looked expensive. The room was full. Cupboards, two small tables, and kitchen stools sat by the counter of the real kitchen, fully equipped. Parker even managed to squeeze the dining table in near the fridge.

Two onions stood on a plate on the kitchen counter, one sliced.

Sophie went to the wall separating the house and the jewelry shop, and knocked on it. It seemed intact, not freshly painted.

“I don’t get this,” Sophie said. She went to the corner with a TV, full of vases, souvenirs, and picture frames. “No photographs, only drawings. Do you see printing papers anywhere?”

Oh yes, he saw them. He cleared his throat and when she turned to look at him, he pointed his flashlight directly into the kitchen. White papers, glued on every surface. Several ropes hung in the air as a laser grid, all of them with papers attached.

The hairs on his neck stood up.

An eerie feeling surrounding them couldn’t be explained by only furniture and papers… there was something else in here that didn’t quite fit.

This didn’t look like a new home she made for herself – but it also didn’t look like a base for breaching that wall to get to the jewels.

“I think we should go,” he said. His attempt at sounding casual worked only partially. Sophie glanced at him and her smile faded a notch.

“Okay, if you think—“

A screech of a plank above their heads stopped her words.

“Shit,” she breathed a word. “Hardison could’ve warned us…”

“Not if Parker was still logged in, but away from a keyboard.” He kept his voice just above the whisper. No way could Parker hear them down there with door closed. “She could set his comp to do something and while waiting, run here for any reason. Three minute walk, remember?

“We stay until she leaves, or…”

But the thief could’ve returned for good, maybe preparing to sleep. Every minute they prolonged this was stupid.

“No. We’re going up. We would tell her we were here anyway, so why not now? I have a few questions about that jewelry shop.”

“You first,” she grumbled the words but he still understood her.

“Turn the light off, hide, and wait until I call you.” If their luck held, she might escape the situation, if he took Parker back to the brewery to finish whatever she was working on for Hardison.

He climbed up and pushed the door above his head.

“Don’t jump, Parker, it’s only me,” he said.

The darkness warned him. Parker would turn on the light. But it was too late.

A cold muzzle pressed at his temple.

Caught with both his hands holding the heavy door, he balanced them for a second too long, and any chance of a quick reaction passed.

“Don’t move, and just listen.” The voice was calm, and soft, and definitely female.

He didn’t move. “A gun?” he said. “What’s this, a burglary gone wrong? You want TV?”

Sophie’s sharp inhale sounded like thunder to him, but he was certain the woman didn’t hear it. Out of the lower corner of his eye, he saw a quick shadow passing under the stairs and behind the kitchen counter.

“Santos, lights.”

He quickly closed his eyes, but the lights pierced through his eyelids nevertheless, painting everything red. The gun on his temple nudged him.

He squinted at the blurry shape of a woman. Ashen blond hair he recognized first, face only after that. Crystal Akineko.

Two men with guns in their hands stood behind her, one at the door.

She held a phone.

“I have my fourth man at the other end of the line.” She waved the phone before his eyes. “He is outside of your brewery. Just one word, and he will climb up and kill that woman in the attic. If he hears a commotion, the same. If he doesn’t hear anything from me, the same. Do you understand?”

He blinked, buying time. “Why kill only the woman in the attic?”

“Hobos left, kitchen staff left, dark haired woman left. You closed the pub before leaving. Don’t try to bluff me. She’s alone there.”

They followed him here, and he came alone. Sophie’s ninja clothes might’ve saved her – they didn’t notice her here waiting for him.

If Sophie found a good place to hide, she should be safe. For now.

He contemplated a quick fall down before securing the hatch, but it would buy him only a couple of seconds. Air vents were too tight for him. No chance of sneaking through it and going behind their backs. And she probably didn’t bluff either. That guy could kill Parker in ten seconds, long before Eliot could reach him.

“Okay.” Playing by their rules by now. “This is a strange way to ask for help from me.”

“You lied about Nate Ford coming tonight – and I can’t wait any longer. You’ll do.”

“What do you want?”

“Climb up.”

He took a step up, pushing the door higher above his head.

The guy in a suit from the kitchen – Uncle – stepped in and held the door behind him. Eliot held his gaze.

“You might want to check if someone is down there,” Eliot said.

“So you’re left with one gun less pointed at you? Nah. We saw you leaving the brewery alone. We checked. Move.”

Eliot stepped into the room, keeping his hands up. “So, what’s the plan? Do you—”

An explosion cut through his words, a burst of pain and flashes. It took a second before he realized the pain exploded in the back of his head, and not around him, but he was already falling, and falling, and falling. Then there was darkness.

 

Chapter 2

 

 

A body hitting a floor was a distinctive sound, not really comparable to anything else. Dull, heavy, and final.

Sophie held her breath and a whelp that almost escaped her. A surge of panic sped her heartbeat and breathing until all she heard were the loud thumps and hissing of blood in her ears. She crawled into a deeper shadow and curled in a corner between the counter and the fridge.

_If you don’t see them, they won’t see you_.

Right. It took all her strength to remove her arms wrapped around her head, and put them on the floor beside her hips. She pressed both her palms at the wooden floor, and breathed through the panic.

“Check the basement, Miguel.”

Curled or not, they would find her if they peeked over the counter. Nothing to do about it. Fighting the urge to melt into the fridge, she held her breath and listened.

Heavy thumps climbed down. One stair, two stairs, three. Then stopped.

A flashlight beam jumped above her head.

“Nah, nothing. No place to hide, either. Do you want me to search everything, or…?”

“No, come on back up. We have to go.” Crystal’s voice changed its color, became more muffled. “Jo, we’re out. Meet us by the car.”

If Jo was the guy waiting to kill Parker, the thief might live through this. But what about Eliot?

As if answering her question, a different sound merged with the sound of footsteps – the dragging of something heavy. A screech of the door covered more whispered words.

Sophie stood up, but she could hear only voices, not words anymore. After ten seconds, they stopped.

What would Eliot do? Probably burst up and beat the crap out of them all, before they even managed to point the guns at him. But that same Eliot was now dragged away as a sack, so maybe that approach wasn’t clever at all.

She stood frozen – still happy she managed to stop the panic enough to move – and listened to the silence.

They had dragged him along, so it meant he was alive. It also meant they had a car nearby, maybe two or more.

She tiptoed to the stairs, as a vision of all of them waiting for her by the door after they closed the door grew in her mind. It would be easier, and much faster for them to check thoroughly, rather than make a show of waiting, yet she still had to force herself to take the first step.

Her flashlight was safely tucked in her pocket, and the cover of darkness gave her enough courage to climb up, one silent step at the time.

Nobody in the upper room. They closed the door after themselves. She pushed herself up and held her breath. A distant murmur of hushed voices came from outside, quieter with every second, then melted into silence.

There were no curtains on the windows, so she could see outside without pressing her nose on the glass. She saw them by the huge grey-ish pickup truck parked at the end of the street – four men carrying Eliot between them, and a woman a few steps ahead.

When she took a step toward the door, her boot crunched something. She hadn’t heard anything breaking when Eliot fell. She crouched and felt the pieces. Plastic and metal. She risked a quick beam of her flashlight, and recognized Eliot’s phone. They crushed it and left it behind.

Now Hardison wouldn’t have anything to help track him down.

But that left only one thing for her to do.

She opened the door – they’d been busy around the truck – and sneaked outside.

Her car was parked behind the house. She would need thirty seconds to get to it and start it.

They would be driving already, but probably under speed limit so as not to raise any suspicion. She could follow them.

She slid into the darkness and ran.

 

***+

 

 

She lost them after only six minutes. Her driving skills were of no use when her only hope was in following them without them noticing her. People with hostages in their cars usually checked whether they were being followed. Darkness didn’t help, either. In the day, the grey pickup would be easy to spot, but night time in Portland, especially when they drove near the center of the city, made it impossible to distinguish grey, silver, light blue and light green. They all looked the same under the street lights, scarcer and scarcer as they moved away from the busy streets.

Movies made it look so easy. In movies, the truck she chased – those two small red dots – never tried to bypass the other cars, mixing their red dots with others on the road, until she had no idea which car she followed.

In the sixth minute, four greyish pickups drove in front of her, and she couldn’t tell anymore which one had Eliot.

She stopped after the first big intersection, and slammed her fist into the dashboard. It didn’t help calm the boiling frustration in her belly.

“I’ve lost them,” she said. Her phone was on the passenger seat, the line with Hardison open. “Any luck with brewery’s main gate camera?”

“Nothing for now. I have Crystal and her uncle from the brewery feed, but not others,” Hardison said. “Cartier jewelry shop’s camera was of no use either. I have dark shapes on a gray background. They parked a little lower, out of camera range, so no license plate.”

“Nate there yet?”

“He’s coming my way. A couple of minutes, and we’re going back to you. Told Parker, too.”

She stared at her wheel for a moment, going back through everything that had happened. Hardison had already searched for their names: Crystal Akineko, Santos, Miguel, and Jo. There was only a slight possibility that any of them were real, but they had nothing else to work on.

Except they did. “Wait. She said they wanted Nate, too. They came tonight because we told them he’d be back. That was before you told us about the dinner with Miss Tuesday.”

“And?”

“What if Nate was there when she first came to talk to him, and he and Eliot agreed to help her right away? She would’ve been prepared for that possibility. That means that place she described, that abandoned farm, would be a trap, ready for their arrival. Would you make another trap in just a couple of hours, somewhere else if you thought that one would still work? It takes time. What if she’s taking Eliot there right now?”

“Give me more details.”

She tried to remember all details from Crystal’s story. “An abandoned farm, on a ridge, in the hills. She said: two, three hills away. Don’t know what it means, but maybe rows of hills? You’ll find out. The property is bought. Someone plans to build a settlement there, but for now there’s nothing there.” She started the car again. “Ah, and there’s a small lake near the farm. Only a twenty-five minute drive, I guess from the Brewery. Or maybe from the city center? Don’t know. I’ll go in that general direction while you search, to be closer.”

“Working on it. Stay tuned.”

She pressed the gas pedal. Hills. Bollocks. That wasn’t helpful at all. Portland was surrounded by hills, for God’s sake.

She chose the dark mass behind the city lights, the mass that looked more hill-y than the other similar masses around, and headed that way.

“No need to. I got it. Many farms, a lot of small lakes, many ridges…. But only one farm with a lake on a ridge, abandoned and bought, and in twenty-five minute radius. Sending you the coordinates. You only have a nineteen minute drive from where you are.”

Nineteen minute drive meant they would soon be there with Eliot.

“Call 911 and send them… no, wait. Is it wise to send police after Eliot? Tell Nate to decide when he gets there.”

“That’s another problem,” Hardison said. “We’re far away. We’ll need much more time.”

“Just get there.”

She cut the call and check the coordinates, taking the turn left and turning her back on Portland.

She even knew the road that should lead her near the farm. There wouldn’t be any traffic now. Her GPS helped. A small line leading from the road to the farm looked like a forest trail, probably no asphalt at all. She should leave the car far away, and come closer on foot.

She took one shaky breath, and tried to exhale it evenly.

Nothing to worry about. She was just a link in the chain, connecting Eliot and his attackers, to Hardison and Nate. When the two of them arrived – and maybe the 911 cavalry with them – she would simply step away and let them do their thing.

She grabbed the wheel tighter, and pressed the gas pedal.

 

***+

 

 

They didn’t hit him that hard.

He came to as they reached the truck. The first three seconds were a mess of mixed signals, swaying and floating, until he realized they carried him between themselves, each of them holding an arm or leg.

It was impossible to hide that he was awake when he lost his relaxed slumber and tensed.

The two of them let his arms loose, and he hit the ground with his head hard. The next moment, a boot flew toward his face and everything floated again.

The next time he opened his eyes he found himself looking down at his chest. The reddish shadows danced over the dark blue material of his shirt. He tried to follow that movement, felt the bile rise in his throat, and quickly closed his eyes.

This disorientation shit was getting annoying.

Breathing through nausea, in fact, never helped. Smiling was the right thing to do. The brain couldn’t process the act of smiling and urge to vomit at the same time, and one had to go. More often than not, the urge to vomit was weaker. Tonight, he wasn’t sure.

After a minute of breathing and trying to find something, anything, solid enough to anchor him in reality, he managed to connect the way his hair tickled his face, and the strange angle of his head.

He was standing. Sort of.

He regretted that conclusion at once, because a burning sensation in his wrists – which probably wouldn’t had penetrated the fog in his mind if he hadn’t pay attention – showed him his hands were tied behind his back. His whole weight rested on whatever they chose to tie him with.

He grinned as broad as he could, hidden by his hair. His stomach responded with a slight calming.

So far, so good.

The absurdity of that thought moved his grin towards almost-a-chuckle territory, and the urge to vomit capitulated.

He raised his eyes – still keeping his head lowered – and observed the white-ish wood of some stairs by his feet. Five of them went down to some muddy ground with tall grass. Ten feet away, a small fire sent red glow around.

Okay, another mystery solved.

A murmur of low voices came from somewhere behind him. He closed his eyes as the wood under his feet brought the vibrations of many steps. The old wood cracked and screeched.

“The porch will do,” a voice said. “I’m not going inside to take that thing out. Not even with a shovel.”

“It’s too open here.”

“C’mon, we’re far away from anything, and surrounded by woods. Have you been inside? Go on, smell it. I’ll wait here.”

Two male voices. He couldn’t locate the others. If he was left with only the two of them, his chances rose exponentially.

He slowly moved his fingers and felt his wrists. Zip ties would’ve been bad news, though he knew the moves to break them, even when tied at the porch column. It wasn’t impossible. But his fingers felt a thick rope going around both of his wrists, and then double around them together. Whoever did those knots knew what he was doing. Without looking, he couldn’t tell which knot was the last one, so the first to work on. If he had time and his hands before him, chewing through the knots was possible, though it would still take too long. In this position? He could only test them and try to loosen them up a bit.

His ankles were free, though.

He risked an almost invisible move of his head to look sideways. No Sophie on sight, just legs in boots, and smaller ones in sneakers fifteen feet from fire.

With Sophie and Parker free, help might have been on its way already. Four of them would find a way to track him, somehow. Hardison would work his typing magic.

_If Sophie and Parker were free, and not left dead back home_.

His gut twitched. No smiling could help with the weight that settled there.

Why would they kill them? No logic in that. To be honest, there wasn’t any logic in him being dragged here, either.

Rising questions, accompanied with the slicing pain in his wrists, fueled his anger and fear until he balanced on the verge of simply asking them what the hell was going on. But he stopped. Every minute he bought with his unconsciousness gave him more time, more chances.

“I don’t have whole night, guys,” Crystal said. “Miguel, go sit on the junction.”

“Been there already. You can’t see the fire from the road, woods—“

“Miguel, go sit on the junction.”

Wow. She repeated the sentence in the same level, calm tone, her intonation not wavering a bit. The silence after her words lasted for three seconds, and then one pair of boots shuffled over the sand.

The other pair of boots came his way, and he took a slow, deep breath, waiting.

He saw a fist surging forward, but he only hardened his stomach. It didn’t help. The guy did it at the right angle, slightly upward, hitting his solar plexus with a damn well-trained routine.

So much about faking it. He bent forward, the ropes tearing at his skin, as the spasm cut off his breath. With what little air he had left, he spat a curse and rode the pain.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Crystal said. “Welcome back, princess.”

 

***

 

If she didn’t drive slowly, watching every bush, boulder and tree on her right side so as not to miss a small road that should’ve taken her closer to the farm, Sophie wouldn’t have seen a man sitting on a stone. The tiny red dot of his cigarette flared up when he drew a smoke, showing his face for a moment.

She turned on the radio and hit the volume, sailing slowly by him, blaring Thriller at full force.

The road she needed was just a small passage cleaved in the trees on his left side, disappearing into darkness after only a yard or two.

She drove away.

When the slope of a hill hid her, she pulled over and got off the road. There was no point in hiding the car. She took everything useful she could find and pushed them into the bag with the flashlights.

Good thing she was already dressed in black.

A moonless night was the perfect time to trudge over hills, through thorny bushes and trees. Portland lights below them painted the sky in an orange hue, so it wasn’t pitch black at least. She could see shapes around her.

She kept herself a hundred feet off the side of the main road, and walked back.

By the time she reached the small road, only one car had passed by. She turned her back to the road and went deeper into the bushes. If she calculated correctly, she did that soon enough to avoid the man guarding the road, going behind him.

Her heartbeat thumped louder than her steps.

Five minutes felt like hours.

What if she missed it completely, and went who knows where? She could walk like this the whole night until dawn found her deep in the woods. Probably about the same time someone found Eliot’s dead body.

She was only minutes from giving up and calling Hardison to locate her and navigate her back to the road, when she saw a red reflection twinkling off the low trees.

Relief only brought her fear back. Her mouth was dry.

She sneaked closer, step after careful step, until she saw a roof and the white walls of a farm building. The huge black thing at the other end of the clearing was probably a barn.

Demolished fence posts lay all around, white like bones, cracked and half rotten.

It was the perfect scenery to put a few zombies in, and let them stagger around. Thank God there wasn’t any mist, or her heart would jump out and run back to the car.

She drew a shaky breath and crouched behind a roll of rotten straw. The foul smell only brought her back into Parker’s house – and reminded her how stupid sneaking in felt now.

Her hands shook so bad that she almost dropped her phone. “Hardison,” she breathed. “Location confirmed, I’m there. Eliot is tied up at the porch, two guys are beating him. A woman and one guy are watching. The fourth is keeping watch at the main road. Send 911. This doesn’t look good.”

“On it. We’re there in twenty minutes, maybe some more.”

“I don’t think he has twenty minutes. Send help, and don’t call me back. I’m on silent, but nevertheless.”

“Be careful, don’t do anythi—”

 “Anything stupid? Of course not. Sophie out.”

It was strange to work without earbuds, only with phones. But at the same time, it was a blessing. Having Hardison and Nate in her ear would only drive her crazy. She had to concentrate on the here and now, not on their worry.

She peeked out from behind the straw bale.

The two guys who were pummeling Eliot took their time. They cruised around him, behind his back, then went back on the stairs to hit him again. She couldn’t tell if they enjoyed it and tried to prolong it, or they waited for something else to happen.

Crystal Akineko sat on an old wooden box by the fire, observing, silent.

What woman would stay and watch punishment like this? Sophie remembered her words back at Parker’s house. She seemed to be in charge. A woman in this world had to stay and watch, if she wanted to keep her position. Leaving would be a sign of weakness.

Yet, the real leader wouldn’t be here at all. She would only give an order. There was someone else above her in the ranks, someone important she needed to impress. Staying through this to the end meant there wouldn’t be any screw ups. Her guys looked like street thugs, except that Uncle guy in a suit.

He kept himself behind Crystal, turned to the darkness surrounding them, scanning the forest.

Sophie gritted her teeth and looked at Eliot closer.

He hung limp from the column and his face was hidden from her, yet the blood plinked slowly from his nose or mouth – she couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to.

He made her feel safe. No danger, no threat of violence, or guns, or knives, felt real when he was near.

Eliot always made it look so easy. He would simply slide near the opponent, with that derisive smile, and the guy would fall back. Half of the time she had trouble noticing what he had done, as if his moves weren’t hits at all. Once or twice she even saw him simply take the guys hand and in the next second, swoosh, he would fly all over the room.

Seeing him like this, tied and helpless, felt… unreal.

One of the guys, taking a break, threw his cigarette into the sand. Another one took a step closer to Eliot and put it off on his shoulder.

She bit a yelp and gritted her teeth.

Then she caught it. Behind them, by the ajar and rotten door, stood a shovel.

 

***+

 

Enthusiastic thugs were the worst. Eliot was delighted to meet two specimens at the same time, eager to improvise, relentless in experimenting, and bursting with heartfelt creativity.

These two also fell into the two main groups of enthusiastic thugs – meticulous and creative ones. They warmed up as any standard thug would, with stomach and plexus hits, worked their way up along the ribcage, both sides equally, and then concentrated on his face. Up and down, up and down, with occasional knee into his crotch.

After only five minutes he couldn’t tell what part was hit – searing pain spread all over until his entire body burned in agony.

He breathed through it, and waited.

When the last hit to his solar plexus didn’t topple him forward, but only melted with the others, he saw his first chance to slow them down.

Enduring their other hits, he waited for the one aimed at his face. He caught it sideways, above the ear. That one wasn’t particularly strong, but still he jerked his head back and slammed it into the column. It gave him a second to observe the back side of the porch, out of the corner of his eye. He saw a shattered window and open door hanging aside on the hinges, directly behind him. That was enough. He let out a strangled moan and then went limp.

Even the pain in his wrists, cut again when all his weight rested heavily on them, was nothing special compared to the burning sensation all over his body.

“Pull him up!” The Creative one said. He had danced all around him in a minuet, working mostly on his ribs.

The other one – Meticulous one – stepped closer.

This time, Eliot managed not to gasp and twitch when he hit him in stomach again. He stayed limp.

“Nah, he’s out.”

Eliot watched him through his eyelashes. The guy massaged his right fist. It usually looked threatening, but there was only a limited amount of times when knuckles could collide with the thick skull bones before pain when hitting became almost the same as pain of receiving.

The Meticulous one would start with leg kicks next. Probably with the knee hits first, then – according to his ability – with round house kicks to his ribs and head.

“Okay, let’s take a break. He ain’t going nowhere.”

The steps on his left shuffled down the stairs and away across the sand. The Creative one stayed. He leaned on the porch fence and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The fence cracked in half, almost sending the guy flying from the porch, but he regained his balance. He spat a curse and moved away.

One cigarette was about five minutes. Eliot started the countdown when a lighter flickered.

That should be enough time to stop this spiraling down and regain some strength. His head was still clear. He could think.

Eliot worked his way through breathing, assessing, and inventorying until the burning agony of fresh hits subsided to regular pain.

He’d been through worse. With a little imagination and a lot of experience, this was – for now – nothing more than a really bad sparring duel. Or several of them lined up.

Sneakers hadn’t moved from their place by the fire. Crystal Akineko said nothing after she sent Miguel away. She sat there, her posture revealing only a sharp attention, nothing more.

How did they step on her? Maria Rodrigues as a connection between them was too vague. They did nothing special to help her. No one was hurt, except a couple of thugs who tried to lure her young sons into their gang. It was a clean, quick job; Nate tested the waters to see if there was a possibility of settling that thing peacefully, working his magic with the thugs while Eliot took the boys out. Nate almost got them. It was the fourth player that stepped in that blew the deal so Eliot had to give them a couple of souvenirs to remember them. Not even a bone was broken.

Crystal Akineko was too young to be a mother of one of them. Sister maybe? Or their boss?

Rodrigues’ kids didn’t know which gang zoned on them. Thugs were mostly Latinos so they could be any of the mayor players. But the ashen gold of Crystal’s hair, her fancy clothes, and no tattoos – it all told the different story.

And if it wasn’t part of a gang’s revenge, what was it?

Well, he had more important things to think about now. The ropes still clutched his wrists, though he used every hit, every movement to work on them. In an hour, or two, he might loosen them enough to pull one hand out.

He didn’t have that time.

The enthusiastic duo would slow down, tired and with hurt fists, but the two of them were only a grinding machine. The one operating the machine’s switch sat by the fire.

Later. Now he had to use this time to rest, to pull through the next round, and keep all of his strength to observe, wait, to look for the chances. Every hit told him new things about them. Sooner or later they would make a mistake.

The cigarette stub made a fiery arch on his left when Creative threw it on the sand.

Time was up.

 

 

***+

 

 

Sophie toyed with an idea of making some noise to distract them, but that plan would only backfire. Letting them know someone was here might speed them up. They could kill him and leave.

Alone, an inexperienced woman in the woods could do nothing. Sophie couldn’t fight them or stop them. She also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. No use in the cavalry coming in twenty minutes if Eliot was beaten to death by then, and for now it looked they weren’t slowing down.

Their only weak spot was that guy at the road, alone and separated.

She put the bag over her shoulder and slowly withdrew deeper in the darkness.

Going to him was equally stupid and impossible. She knew that. But her only other choice was to stay here and watch them beat Eliot.

She glanced once more at the porch. The sound of fists hitting flesh spread over the farm. She grabbed a two foot long plank and turned her back to the fire.

Making up her mind never felt so shitty. She tried to put some vigor in her steps, and march as if she meant it, but it didn’t help.

This time she chose the small road to return to the main one. It was clear and her shoes crunched only damp soil and stones. She should be able to sneak up pretty close to the intersection point where the guy on guard sat.

And what then?

Wait for help, a small sneaky voice in her head whispered.

Well, this was some kind of waiting for help.

She tried to concentrate on the road and her steps, counting the distance, deciding where to stop and take cover again. The road went on almost straight from the farm, and after three minutes she saw headlights passing by in front of her.

Time to make a plan.

Her bag would only get in the way, so she pushed it under a small tree, greyish in the dark. One long, dry branch spread over the road, marking the spot.

She took only her phone and the plank.

Only twenty steps later, she saw the guard. His back was turned to her. He still watched the road.

The fifty feet between them looked like a mile.

Slowly, she stepped beside the road and melted in the bushes on the left. The grass under her feet shuffled with that single step. Sneaking up on him in a circle, off the road, would make too much noise. Her only chance was to use the stones on the path, going directly to him.

If he turned around, she would be caught in the open.

Throwing a stone so he went to investigate it only worked in the movies. It would just make him check everything around him, making it impossible to her to come closer.

Even worse would be if she used her phone. She would have to sneak around, plant it, set the alarm to ring, go back and—

The lights on the road, going uphill toward them, gave her an idea.

She drew closer, holding her breath, following the approaching car with her burning stare.

When engine noise covered all sounds around them, she surged forward.

The guy would look into the lights just as he watched her when she drove by. Even if he looked behind him the next moment, he would still see only red circles before his eyes.

She gripped the plank, making the distance in five huge, fast steps – just as the car passed them – and with a swing, hit him across his shoulder and the back of his head.

He turned around.

In a heartbeat of panic, she just stood there, staring at the rage filling his eyes.

He should’ve fell.

A car came to a screeching halt. The way her luck was going, it wouldn’t be someone who would help a maiden in distress – it would probably be his friends coming to help them dig a hole for a body.

For the bodies.

She put the plank before herself. “The next hit will kill you,” she said. “Turn around and raise your hands.”

Fake it till you make it. She did hit him hard, and maybe if he was groggy enough to be confused, this might work.

Or not. He stepped forward with a fist striking so fast she barely saw it. It was a reflex that saved her from very expensive plastic surgery – she raised her hands to protect her face, and his fist slammed into the plank.

The wail that escaped him, a growl of rage and pain, spread all over, shaking every bone in her body. Blindly, she stepped back and swung the plank, not looking, not aiming. It hit him across the right forearm and shoulder. This time he staggered. But he staggered towards her, hate and pain distorting his face into the bared-teeth mask of a wounded weasel. A frantic, hungry weasel.

She swallowed a scream, waved the plank to have something, anything between them, and… and he grew into two shapes, with flailing arms.

Her arms fell.

One long, long second she just stupidly blinked, as a distorted figure before her danced, turning in circle, with grunts and heavy breathing.

“Do something!” A strangled yell got her together.

Another shape, glued on the thug’s back like a backpack, had a blond hair.

Parker squeezed the guy in a choke hold, but either she was too weak, or the guy knew how to fight it.

Do what?

The plank would hit both of them, probably Parker first.

She hit one of the two legs standing on the ground instead, and the sharp collision of wood and bone sounded louder than the guy’s scream. He toppled forward to his knees first, then fell aside as Parker pulled him with her weight.

She watched, frozen, the dark mass before her feet, until all movement stopped, and grunts grew into silence.

The mass separated into two.

Parker didn’t get up. She felt the man, poked him once.

“We have to tie him,” Parker whispered. Her blond hair caught the reflection of the orange sky when she rose her face to her – a white face with wide open eyes. “Eliot taught me the difference between a blood choke, and an air choke. I thought I knew, but, but… this… this. This wasn’t—”

That broke her stupor. “Shhh. It’s okay. You did great.” She swallowed her nausea and tried to smile, for her, for that despair in her eyes. It took all her strength to come closer, but the thief needed that. “Hardison sent you?”

“No. Just told me where the farm was – but I was already half way here. Left the brewery immediately.”

Her hand, Sophie noticed, kept touching the guy’s back. She knelt beside him, and slowly held her hand. “Let me see him,” she whispered.

She felt the man’s pulse, hoping – praying – there would be one.

“He’s okay,” she said. “Steady heartbeat. Find something to tie him up with before he comes to.”

Parker jumped on her feet and ran to the car.

She waited.

This numbness she felt was dangerous, but it felt so damn good to just stare into nothing, without thinking or doing anything.

Parker returned with a backpack, her drone, a small black bag, and a Samurai sword Eliot used to pose around with, never to actually use it. It was strange that Parker picked that sword in every dangerous situation. Since Nate gave it to Eliot back in Boston as a Christmas gift, the sword was always around, and never touched by anyone except Parker.

“What the…”

“I took everything I found on my way to the car. But I couldn’t find my taser,” she said. She held several plastic bags. “Tear those apart. No chance of getting rid of them when tied with five.”

She took the bags, but the thief held her hand. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

She lowered her eyes to the guy on the ground just to avoid Parker’s fear.

One down, four to go.

She had no idea what to do next.

 

 

Chapter 3

 

***+

 

 

He was right about their aching hands. It took just one more blow to his head for Meticulous to spat a curse and shake his hand. When he took a step back, Eliot gritted his teeth and tensed all the muscles he could tense without screaming.

The round house kick with his right foot was aimed at Eliot’s right ribs, but he twitched to the left as far as he could, and guy’s heavy boot slammed into the column.

The cracking sound was, unfortunately, wood, not the small bones in his foot.

“You really think it’s wise to prolong this?” The guy snarled at him.

He didn’t bother to respond. No place on the left to move away any more. This time, with an explosion of a pain that left him breathless, the cracking he heard could easily be his ribs.

But wait. No.

The cracking sound was deep, and it came behind his spine. He grabbed the back side of the column and pulled a little. The sound repeated.

He spat blood and cleared his throat. The guy moved to make room for Creative, but that one still used his fists. Right now, he needed more heavy leg work on this column.

“You must wear high heels by day, sweetheart,” Eliot said. “Because you surely hit like you walk.”

Meticulous didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Eliot grinned at Creative instead. “Yes, you take over. Show this girl how the real men hit. He’s a joke.”

Creative glanced at Meticulous, and that moved him. He pushed him aside and came back. “Now you’ll see how real men hit. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

Meticulous grabbed him by the shoulders and dug his knee in his stomach.

The echo of that hit went up the column to the roof of the porch. The upper part of the column pressed at his shoulders and neck a little harder.

The crack must’ve started somewhere near his elbow, because he felt the beginning of a huge splinter, pressing at his forearm. The thugs probably wouldn’t see it. It wasn’t protruding more than an inch, and light of the fire wasn’t enough to see the back side.

He felt its edges. Not sharp enough. The wood was rotten and it crumbled under his fingers, yet he worked on it, cleaning it, until he felt harder fibers coming to surface.

That would speed his job on ropes.

He contemplated about pressing hard against the column, but that wasn’t such a bright idea. He would fall back and the edge of the roof, collapsing after him, would cut him in half.

The next hit surprised him. For a few long seconds he completely forgot that Meticulous had no reason to stop after only one smash at him. And that painful reminder brought a new trouble.

He used his body to absorb the whole energy of the hits that followed, keeping an inch between his back and the column. Letting them know the column was slowly cracking wasn’t wise – yet letting that same column to break when he hadn’t needed it, was plain stupid.

He needed to slow this down.

The chance came in a pause between two hits.

“Crystal Akineko,” he said. “I have a question.”

The thugs waited until Crystal nodded.

“If I’m about to die, I want to know why.”

“Who said anything about killing?”

Yeah, right. He believed her. “Whoa, thanks for letting me know that _now_.” He thought for a second, getting his thoughts together. His brain felt woolly. ”I’ll rephrase that question. If I’m about to get beaten, I want to know why.”

She tilted her head, watching him, then she nodded to the thugs.

The rain of quick blows – the Creative took over, thank God – stopped all the questions he had. But it couldn’t stop his thoughts.

What ever happened to bad guys wanting you to know why you’re killed, beaten, taken, whatever?

And if this was just a lesson, why she was here? Her thugs could do this alone. The boss wasn’t needed.

Her attention gave him an answer. She _wanted_ to be here. The cold bitch enjoyed this – and it told a lot about how she dealt with problems and her modus operandi. Whoever she worked for, she was probably very high in the ranks. The employee who didn’t hesitate to do dirty work, who wanted to do that sort of work, was very rare to find.

A raw, guttural cry of pain spread over the clearance. It froze them all, even him.

The voice was male, and older, and it didn’t sound like Hardison’s or Nate’s voice, but damn it, he couldn’t be sure. That left only Miguel who had been sent to keep watch.

Who attacked him?

Nate and Hardison would’ve needed much more than these past fifteen minutes to come up here. Unless his sense of time was screwed up, which would be strange. That left only Parker and Sophie. The mere thought of the two of them out in the darkness made his blood boil.

Crystal pulled out her phone and hit redial, the bluish light reflecting on her face.

Eliot listened. They all did. No sound of ringing anywhere near. Nobody answered her call.

She nodded to the Uncle guy by her side. He strode away up the road and disappeared.

That left only his enthusiastic friends and Crystal here. By the way the Uncle stood this entire time, attentive and observing the darkness, he was probably the most dangerous of all four men. Crystal was in another category.

Sophie and Parker, or god forbid, only one of them, might soon be dragged here. Crystal’s words about not killing him were just a ruse. She knew how to calm her victims down. Many of them would wait and not try to free themselves or cause any trouble, thinking they would live.

He wasn’t a naïve victim.

Eliot moved his wrists along the splinter faster.

 

***+

 

Sophie sat on the stone the thug used as his watch post, but her main focus wasn’t on the road. She watched the guy lying before her feet. They tied him with bags and put him flat on the ground, with his nose on the stones. He should breathe just fine.

Parker ran off to move her car up the road. Minutes passed too fast and too slow.

It felt good to just sit and put some order on her frantic thoughts, to calm the thumping of her heart, yet every minute that passed meant Eliot’s collection of bruises would become more remarkable.

It was easier to think of that as only bruises. He had been roughed up before. No big deal.

It didn’t work at all. The urge to jump on her feet and run to stop it rushed over her, nulling all the calmness she had managed to force onto herself.

Parker ran back at just the right moment, right when she stood up ready to walk in circles just to do something.

It was strange to see the thief so sped up. Sophie watched her quick steps and the fear fueled energy in small movements of her hands as she dove into her bags.

“Are you scared?” she said.

Parker froze.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Eliot is never beaten. We never lose.”

She knew how her mind worked. “You have enough data to extrapolate for that conclusion?”

“Enough.” She shook her head to move the bangs of hair from her eyes, and drew her lips into a horizontal line.

And there it was again, a small heartbreak Sophie felt every time Parker tried to act like a normal girl. This attempt to smile was for her, to calm her down. One more victory for sure – but the battlefield was wrong.

“That’s good to hear,” she said softly, and sent her a real smile.

“What now?” The grimace fell off Parker’s face the moment she switched her mind to now.

“We shall hide the guy, and then tell them we’ve got him,” Sophie said. “Any suggestions?”

Parker stood up and looked over the clearing. “On the other side of the road. If they come searching for him, they’ll first search this side. I guess. I would.”

They would have to carry him, and it would take time.

Sophie sighed. “You grab his shoulders, I’ll take his legs.” She stopped, feeling the taste of those words in her mouth, and almost laughed. She quelled the laugh; Parker wouldn’t understand it. “Hide the bags first,” she added.

She took the guys boots under each arm and Parker pushed up his other half. Sophie went first, the weight dragging her down.

They shuffled across the road as fast as they could, entering the thick mess of bushes, thorns and small trees on the other side. The body between them, completely limp, was much harder to carry than a stretcher. They made it only a couple hundred feet before she had to stop, barely able to breathe.

“’T’s enough,” she forced out the words with effort. Her arms burned when she kneeled down to put his legs on the ground.

Parker’s heavy breathing was as loud as hers.

She checked the man’s pulse and sat by him. Parker didn’t.

“Your drone can work at night?” she asked when she regained enough air to speak. “Does it have a camera?”

“Yes and no.”

“Do you have any weapons in your bags, except that sword which we aren’t – and I mean it – going to use?”

“No.”

“I guess we’ll have to bluff, then.”

“I don’t know how to.”

“No worries,” Sophie said, letting her smile be heard in her voice. “It’s just a nicer word for bullshit.”

Not that she would understand that, either. “I’ll lie to them. Now move. We have to go back, and come as close to the farm as we can.” At the same time, keeping Parker as far away as she could, without her suspecting she was keeping her behind.

Sophie knew that Parker was probably better in this kind of nasty situation than her, but… ah, well, Eliot’s overprotectiveness was sometimes contagious.

“What should I do?” Parker said.

Nothing. “I’ll think of something while we walk.”

Sophie checked the plastic ties on their prisoner, and turned him to lie sideways, just in case.

“I got this from his pocket.” Parker gave her the guy’s phone. “Not locked. Set on vibrate. One missed call.”

“Good.” She put it in her pocket and got up. She plastered a smile on her face where Parker could see it, and nudged her.

“Let’s go finish this.”

This time, the thief’s smile looked almost like a smile.

 

 

***+

 

 

“We should finish this and go.”

That was the last sentence Eliot understood before Creative lowered his voice. Both thugs joined Crystal by the fire. He had to stop that line of conversation before they decided something drastic.

“Yeah, you should go,” he said. “You might get a chance to live.”

“Shut up!”

“My lady,” he said, “are you sure your king will be glad when you come to him alone? If I let you go at all.”

Her gaze was level. He grinned at her and doubled his efforts to cut the rope.

“You don’t really know with whom you’re messing with,” he said. “It took us six minutes to deal with Rodrigues’ problem.”

She took her phone and weighted it in her hand for a few seconds, the first sign of any hesitation. No; he corrected himself. This wasn’t hesitation, just deciding between several options. This woman wouldn’t have to think twice to give an order to kill. If that suited her plans, she would do it without any problem.

Dammit, he saw no weakness he could attack, at least not right now.

“Good you reminded me,” Meticulous said. “You won’t be able to speak after I send all your teeth down your throat.”

Crystal put the phone on her ear. “Found him yet?”

Eliot watched her face to read the reply, but he was too far away to see any nuances. The flickering of flames didn’t help either.

“Call back when you find him.”

She didn’t know how to give the same order without revealing to him the outcome. Or, maybe she didn’t care what he knew. Helpless victims could do nothing with that information.

Uncle guy would continue to search around, armed and ready for anything, and whomever of his team were here was in greater danger than he was right now. It was time to turn the tables.

Eliot waited until Crystal looked away from him and talked in low voice to the thugs. He used those seconds when nobody watched him to press the column backwards. The splinter now visibly protruded. He didn’t care. With all his strength, he slid the ropes upwards, pressing at the edge as hard as he could, until it snapped.

He quickly caught the dangling end and wrapped it around his fist and wrist. Right on time.

Creative looked at him, frowning.

The snapping sound wasn’t that loud. Maybe he caught the last movement of his arms. He relaxed into slumber.

Right before the thug took his first step toward him, he heard a buzzing coming from the road.

He knew that sound - an irritant chainsaw on helium.

Parker’s drone.

Creative stopped in his tracks as a small flyer flickered above the branches.

“And now,” Sophie’s voice came from the other end of the clearing, “the first one who moves, gets a bullet.”

 

 

***

 

 

For a moment Crystal and her two thugs stood motionless.

Sophie leaned forward, fixing her gaze on Crystal. She was the one who would decide their next moves. The thugs would listen, doing nothing on their own.

For now, all three of them were around fire, far away enough from Eliot so they couldn’t use him as a shield. There was at least thirty, maybe forty feet between the fire and the porch.

Parker kneeled beside her, concentrating on the tiny flyer. She handled it with care, slowly moving it in a circle above their heads.

Sophie remembered the thief’s joy and playfulness when she directed a helicopter toy onto the guards when they set Nate free from the prison. This time, though stakes were probably much lower, Parker seemed to take this seriously, as if breaking a safe.

A couple of seconds of silence was enough. Sophie didn’t want Crystal to think. “You are by the fire and completely visible,” she said loud enough for them to hear her. She hoped the Uncle guy Crystal sent to find their missing man wasn’t close enough to hear her. “We are around you. We won’t hesitate to shoot you all. Slowly, with one hand, draw your guns and throw them on the ground.”

Crystal slowly raised her right hand, but it didn’t go into her jacket to take a gun. It stayed in the air, stopping her men in their movement.

“We should talk about this,” she said.

“Nothing to talk about. See that drone? You’re recorded. Your faces are lit by the fire, and zoomed in on. The recording is going directly into the cloud and to a hard copy.” Where was Hardison when you needed him? She had no idea what she just said – at least it sounded techy enough. “Nothing for you to do. But we don’t need you. We only want our man. You’ll be free to go. Put your weapons down, and stand back.”

She held her breath. If Crystal called her on her bluff, they would be toast. Every second of Crystal thinking – and she wanted her to think about her words now – felt like a month of nasty toothaches.

The drone flew from Eliot to the fire, and then back to him, and Sophie didn’t breathe.

“Okay,” Crystal finally said. “We’ll put our guns down. You can have your man, but I want to be sure you won’t—”

“Hell you gonna put them down!” A new voice breached through the trees.

Sophie stopped a curse. The bushes a mere twenty feet from their hiding place rustled, and after the sound of branches breaking, a dark silhouette stepped into the lit clearing.

So much for plastic bags as a good substitute for rope. The guy they’d left tied and unconscious burst with life.

“Welcome back, Miguel,” Crystal said.

“They don’t have any weapons, and that thing doesn’t have a camera on it,” he said, stomping towards the fire. “They thought I was out. I heard all they said. You have only two women out there. Go get them.”

Sophie’s frantic thoughts just stopped. Her mind went blank.

Plan A had failed. They didn’t have a plan B.

The drone hissed in anger, speeding up and diving down on four people, but one of the guys who beat Eliot drew his gun and fired. The drone swerved in the air above them, whirled once to the left and slammed into the ground.

It buzzed once, shook, and died.

“Retreat deeper in the woods,” Sophie whispered. Her mouth was dry.

They had a chance to escape. They would follow them into thick woods, with eyes used to the fire light. By the time they adjusted, the two of them could be far away. But Eliot… she glanced at the hitter on the porch.

He hung limp, maybe unconscious, with his head lowered.

“No.”

She stirred. Parker’s word fell hard, heavy between them.

In the darkness that surrounded them, the thief’s lean shape was almost invisible, only her hair caught a reflection of the fire.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Crystal motioning to her men. They had seconds to escape.

“Parker, there’s nothing we can do now. We have to move before—”

“No.”

“We’ll come from the other side when we get rid of the chase, and try…”

Parker stepped forward, pushing her bags to her. “You go. Nate and Hardison will soon be here. They may be minutes from here. I’m going to buy them those minutes.”

“Parker, no, don’t—”

But it was too late.

The thief turned around and disappeared.

 

Chapter 4.

 

 

***

 

 

Sophie slid deeper into the thicket. Her black clothes melted with the tree trunk she stood by, but she still could see the porch and fire in front of it.

Their prisoner – what did Crystal call him? Miguel? – took a gun from one of the other two. A spare gun, she noticed. That was strange. She searched him when they tied him down, and she found no gun. Yet, he wouldn’t go watch the road unarmed. That only meant he must’ve dropped it in the fight with Parker, and none of them saw it in the darkness before they carried him away.

She knew the exact spot. If she ran there now, she might return with a gun before Parker did something dangerous for all…

The thief stepped into the lit circle right in the middle of her thought. Too late.

All three thugs pointed their guns at her. Crystal didn’t. She sat back on her box, and crossed her legs.

Eliot, if it was possible, looked even more unconscious.

Sophie sighed, perplexed with the stupidity of her last thought. Her brain whirled in circles just like the drone had, and it was clearly heading for the same landing – a dull thud into the ground.

Parker, with both hands raised above her head, slowly progressed across the clearing. Every step bought them another second or two, but it thinned Sophie’s nerves much more than it thinned their opponents’.

Parker stopped between Eliot and the fire, then turned to face Crystal.

“You can’t kill my husband,” she said.

Sophie opened her eyes as wide as she could. The tremor in thief’s voice was Oscar worthy.

“Yes, we can,” Crystal said. “I think you meant ‘we mustn’t kill your husband’.

“Whatever.” Parker lowered her hands, slowly, not making any other move. “He’s everything I have. I can’t lose him. I can’t let you do it.” With the same slow shuffle, she turned around and looked at him.

Eliot looked dead – dead. Sophie hoped that was only an _oh god get me out of this_ sort of dead.

With her back turned to Crystal, Parker walked to the porch. Step by step, with guns aimed at her back, she climbed the five stairs and stood by Eliot. Sophie caught her breath only when Parker turned to look at Crystal again - not many bad guys would shoot an unarmed woman in the back, and she clearly counted on it – but knowing that and actually testing that were two completely different things.

“I guess you will have to kill us both,” Parker said, a desperation and love mingling in her voice. “I’m not leaving him.” She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him.

Knowing Parker, that meant she had cut his ties, put three grenades in all three pockets he had, planted a bug, tracker, camera, a new phone, took his wallet - and changed his IDs with new identity that would show Crystal she had the wrong guy - and applied band aids on seven of his cuts.

“Okay,” Crystal said.

One of the guys who beat Eliot looked sideways at her, confusion in his eyes.

“So be it,” Parker said. “Would you let me call my sister before you… you do it? She is babysitting our twins. I’d like to hear them one last time.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Crystal said.

As far as Sophie could tell, Eliot shared the same sentiment. It was probably invisible for the thugs, but his posture, though he hadn’t moved at all, radiated so frantic an irritation that she wondered how that porch hadn’t burst into flames yet.

“I guess the next thing you will tell us,” Crystal continued, “will be that he has to call his class of homeless students whom he saved from a life on the street, right after he woke up from a coma, and only yesterday you two felt your lives were starting anew, full of happiness and hope for the future?”

Parker’s sudden rigid stance showed Sophie that Crystal really had stolen her cues.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Crystal turned to the thugs.  “Miguel, stay here. You two, get that woman off the porch and finish your job. I’ll decide later what to do with her.”

Sophie could see a screaming hesitation in the steps of the two men, but she didn’t think for a second they would disobey a direct order.

There was only one thing she could do before they reached the porch and she could run back for the gun. She took her phone out. If Parker’s phone rang in the next few seconds, they would stop. When a person you were threatening had an open line with someone, you didn’t do anything that would alert someone what was going on. Crystal would give them a sign to wait, and the guns aimed at Parker would warn her not to say anything. But she would allow Parker to talk, so as not to raise suspicion. If their luck held, they could buy a couple of minutes more. Parker knew how to prolong the talk as much as needed.

She hit dial.

Something hit her hand.

Her phone flew above her head and landed somewhere far behind her. A fist caught her above the left ear and she flew after her phone.

A second of pain and disorientation, while stumbling in the darkness, ended too soon.

“Don’t move,” a voice said in her ear. A hand wrapped around her neck, a thick forearm, and squeezed.

She clung with both hands at the forearm, to move it, to breathe, but it didn’t move an inch.

So she did what he said, crying inside.

 

 

***

 

 

He had all of it figured out and sorted into tidy sequences that would’ve _worked_. The two Enthusiasts would come back to him after the break, leaving Crystal by the fire. His hands were free. The moment they were in his reach, they would’ve been done with. Their guns, in his hands, no matter his intention to not use them, would be enough to stop Crystal from doing anything stupid. Even Miguel’s return would be easy to solve.

But. Parker.

Eliot watched her approach through the wisps of his hair, grateful for the distance so nobody could hear him gritting his teeth.

She put herself between him and the thugs, so he couldn’t reach them. Check.

Stopped the thugs from coming over to him. Check.

Stood as close to him as she could, so the thugs aiming at him could shoot her instead. Check.

He found himself mentally encouraging Crystal to cut through this bullshit and do something, and when she finally did it, he felt only gratitude. Good girl. Professional, at least. That woman knew what she wanted, and did the right things to get it. Though, he would’ve shot Parker immediately if he were her.

The two thugs walked towards them but because of Parker – _thank you, Parker_ – they had their guns aimed at them both. If they only came back here to continue beating him, their guns would’ve been safe in their holsters.

_Try not to strangle Parker before dealing with the thugs_. Check.

His irritation exploded when he realized he couldn’t just surge at them and disarm them. Not with Parker by his side, and fingers on their triggers.

He needed a different plan.

He raised his head.

“Parker,” he said.

She threw her most dazzling smile at him. “Yes?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh.”

The thugs had seven more steps to reach the porch stairs. He let them make two more.

The timing was crucial.

He let the cut ties fall to the ground and pressed the column backwards with all his strength. When the first crack echoed over the clearing, he pushed himself off the column and towards Parker.

Grabbing her around her waist – as the column broke in half and toppled, pulling the roof down – he jumped with her backwards, towards the half open doors.

They barely made it. The roof fell in a massive collapse, following their jump by only an inch. When he rolled them on the floor, the entire front wall crumbled.

“Stay inside,” he croaked to Parker.

The cloud of dust in the darkness made an impenetrable barrier. He coughed, shut his eyes, and felt his way towards the orange hued part of the mess around him. The fire would guide him.

He thought he would have to jump through the window to get out, but the collapsed wall made it easier. He stepped onto the porch, hidden within a cloud that rolled almost to the fire.

His enthusiastic friends, engulfed into the dust, coughed while bent over, their guns forgotten.

They didn’t see him coming.

This time he didn’t restrain his hits; he aimed to incapacitate them as quickly as possible. They needed to stay down. Meticulous got a knee hit to the head that sent him sprawling backwards. He knocked Creative with two nasty elbow hits, but he didn’t let him fall. He took his head in a choke hold, and as the guy hung as a rag, he turned to the fire.

Crystal and Miguel, recovering from their stupor, aimed at him.

They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot both him and Parker, but their own team member in their aim should make them think. Three seconds of thinking. That was all he needed from them.

He could reach them in five steps. Creative would be a shield until he threw him at them. The rest should be… routine. Still dangerous as hell, and prone to all sorts of fuck-ups, but doable.

He had just taken his first step when a terrified bellow, much like the first Miguel’s cry, froze them all.

 

 

***

 

The guy turned toward the farmhouse when he heard a rumble, pulling Sophie with him. His arm pressed harder at her throat and she gagged, fighting for air. The black smudges in the corner of her vision grew purple.

She dug her nails in his arm. No use. It felt like she was trying to move stone.

She faced the farm now. She saw Eliot coming out of a cloud of dust like an angel of vengeance; saw him fighting the thugs.

The one who held her spat a curse an inch from her ear. “Stop fidgeting! I’ll break your neck, bitch.”

Tears of defeat muddied everything around her. Eliot was just a greyish shape now. He stopped, holding the one man, while facing Crystal and Miguel.

Sophie knew his next steps. They would be taken aback when he charged at them… but not now.

This bastard dragged her closer to the edge of the bushes.

Everything would be lost if he managed to drag her there, in front of Eliot. No way would Eliot risk her life. He would surrender just to keep her safe.

They would be at the beginning again, except now all three of them would be caught and held in front of those guns. And that would in fact be the best option for the bad guys – they could just shoot Eliot immediately, instead of waiting to tie him up and beat him again.

She fought. The guy couldn’t threaten Eliot with her dead body. He needed her alive.

The thug pulled at her again. He paid no attention at her feet hitting his.

In that moment, right before he almost lifted her from the ground, she saw her phone.

In complete darkness, it emanated a blue light. How? She had no time to dial Parker’s number before he slammed her hand. Her screen must’ve locked by now.

He pulled her away and the phone stayed, now somewhere behind her back.

They had only ten feet to the edge of the bushes. Her panic exploded.

Without thinking, blindly, she forced herself to release the arm she clung at to breathe. She lowered both her arms and wiggled her way away from him – and reached behind her back.

She grabbed between his legs with both hands, got a good hold – and squeezed with all her strength.

His cry pierced her eardrum. The arm around her neck loosened its hold, but still held.

She squeezed harder.

The bellow deepened.

Before she grasped him the third time, two feet behind her back, the sound of metal clicked against metal.

It was  a shotgun pumping right behind them.

His cry trailed off into silence.

 

***

 

Eliot was the only one who wasn’t frozen by the ugly sound of a pumping shotgun. It came from his right side, very close, just behind the first bushes at the end of a clearing. The same direction where the bellow came.

One second after the first shotgun, another came from the opposite side.

One second after that one, the third came from the barn, then a fourth and fifth.

His blood ran cold. Hardison’s knowledge – and Nate’s, as a matter of fact –about firearms and police procedures was from the movies. Nowhere in the world a bunch of cops would surround people with only shotguns. Even if they did, they would pump up their guns before heading to the crime scene. No sane person would risk facing possibly armed men with their own weapons not ready to shoot.

And he wasn’t the only one who knew that.

Crystal stood frozen, but Miguel, who was beside her, blinked and frowned. He turned his head towards the woods, his frown deepening.

Eliot held Creative tighter and pulled him up as he surged forward. He had to get to Miguel before his suspicion was confirmed; he had only a second or two.

The last two steps he pushed Creative before him, and the groggy man trotted those steps on his own, directly into Miguel.

Eliot followed just a blink after him, knocking Miguel out of his boots.

Crystal turned her gun at him.

He had seen eyes like hers before. Too much going on in too little time, adrenaline running through her system like a freight train. Her brain couldn’t follow her urge to act. Fight or flight struck hard, and she clung to the only thing she thought could help get her out. Her gun.

One second before she would pull the trigger, flashes of red and blue light lit the clearing from left and right.

“This is Captain Tom Baker from the Portland State Police speaking.” A powerful voice with a steel edge in it cut through her adrenaline flow.

That voice needed no megaphone, no sound system. It penetrated any fog in her head. Stopped her cold. Made her listen.

“You’re surrounded.” The voice stated. “Kneel. Now.”

And she knelt.

Yeah, _darling_. That’s how Nate Ford sounded when he’s really pissed off and scared to death.

Eliot knocked out Creative who still staggered in a circle, just in case.

He took Crystal’s gun and disarmed all the guns around him. Parker had walked out of the ruin so he could let her take care of—

“Eliot, would you mind?”

Sophie’s voice came from the nearest bushes, where the first shotgun sound came from.

Nate and Hardison stepped out of the shadows behind the barn, but he only waved to them and followed Sophie’s voice.

“We’re in some weird status quo here.”

If he didn’t know better, he would think Sophie sounded embarrassed.

The last thing he expected, after her so casual call, was to see her being held as a shield. Santos had his arm around her neck.

Red and blue lights flickered through the thicket, but it wasn’t enough for him to see if he held a gun to her head. Yet he saw his eyes. Huge, wide open and glazed in agony.

“Chop, chop, we don’t have all day. “

“What the actual f—

“He can’t move, because if he tenses a single muscle in his arm, I’ll feel it and, well, squeeze harder. And I can’t let him loose, because then he will squeeze harder. So, our symbiosis, though involuntary, has served its purpose and I’m more than ready to let you handle this.”

He stepped closer and observed the pair, not sure if his pity for Santos should be stronger than his worry for Sophie, or vice versa.

“Okay, Soph. Let him go.”

She did. Santos didn’t do what every other clever person would do – keep her still in his hold. He pushed her away, ready for fight.

It lasted five seconds, and it felt good.

Sophie untangled herself from the bushes and shook off her clothes. “We won’t speak of this in public,” she said.

“Of course not. Not until I need something for blackmail.”

She huffed but said nothing.

They both took one foot each, and dragged Santos towards the fire.

Nate and Hardison stood by Crystal, who was still kneeling.

When the third rotating light flashed behind them, they all turned.

Two strong reflectors blinded them all. So, Nate did call 911. If anything, that showed how nasty this trouble looked to him and Hardison, too far away and not knowing if they would come in time or not.

A voice that spoke through the police speaker sounded metallic, but it didn’t have Nate’s strength.

“This is Randall Coddington from Portland…”The voice trailed off. “It’s you. All of you. Hell no.”

Silence.

“Okay guys, stand down. I think we have a civilian arrest.”

Eliot took Crystal’s box and sat.

His part was done. The rest of it was Nate’s show. Only thing for him to do now was to take care of his bruises, and move as little as possible.

The first part would have to wait. The second one was already in motion and was going great.

He watched a group of cops moving to and fro, taking statements from the brave civilians, formally arresting the bad guys.

Sophie’s eyelashes worked overtime. Parker was in her cute and innocent, and oh so frightened mode. Hardison spiraled into explaining how rotating lights helped tiny turtles and saved their lives, and _no, Officers, I would NEVER use them to impersonate the police, god forbid, how outrageous that would be - not to mention illegal_.

Nate didn’t even have to do his magic on Coddington. The cop listened to Nate’s brief report with a stoic indignation, looking in turns in each member of the Leverage team, and the five previously armed people lying around in various states of consciousness.

_Yeah, Randall, take a good look. And remember_.

 

***

 

They all drove back to the Brewery in Lucille together. Parker’s and Sophie’s car would stay here until tomorrow.

Eliot wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t have to worry. Nobody cooed over him.

He used Lucille’s first aid kit to take care of his face first. Inventory was standard: one eye almost shut, one swollen and progressing, a split lip, his nose luckily in the same shape but bleeding and closed.

The cigarette burn was next. The rest would have to wait until he got home, but he didn’t need to take a look to know which colors he was already sporting. If his luck held, his ribs were intact.

The next three days would be a joy.

“…and the most important thing was to quickly and invisibly plant our phones all around,” Hardison’s speech, which had started when Parker took the driver’s seat and drove them away from the farm, continued over three different hills without a pause. “I knew I had a shotgun sound recorded somewhere, and we were lucky I had it on my tablet. After that, connecting the tablet with our phones, including Sophie’s and Parker’s phones, was a piece of cake. The next best thing was…”

Parker steered them over one more hill and drove towards Portland.

No time and place to talk with her about that little play she did back there – but he made a mental note to corner her somewhere very soon, and explain, in detail, what not to do when facing armed opponents.

“And who can explain to me,” Nate cut off Hardison,” who the hell that woman was and what did she want?”

Eliot exchanged a glance with Sophie.

“I guess we’ll have to wait for Coddington to tell us that,” she said. “It had something to do with that Rodrigues case you two did, so she’s probably working for whoever leads the gang that tried to get Maria’s boys to sell weed for them. We really don’t know for sure.”

“Does that mean we’ll have a sequel?” Hardison said.

“Not likely,” Eliot said. “Not if you ask me. I’m done with getting beaten up. Next time, we hit first.”

“I’ll take a look at that,” Nate said.

Knowing Nate, whoever the leader was, his luck just ran out.

Eliot put the items back in the first aid kit, took his place on the floor behind the driver’s seat, and closed his eyes.

It had gotten pretty close today. Speaking of luck running out, this was close call – and the fact it was so stupid, so unrelated to anything, made it even worse.

They could all have ended up dead, for nothing.

Something to think about.

 

***

 

Parker drove them to brewery. Nate would take Sophie home, and Eliot’s car waited there too. He refused to join them in a post-job celebration drink. This didn’t feel like a job, and he wasn’t in shape for a celebration.

Yet he changed his mind right before he got into his Challenger.

The worst part after getting beaten was the first slow down. He knew what was coming. As long as he walked, did things, and stayed in motion, the pain subsided and was dull, bearable. The moment he stopped moving, it would hit.

Taking a walk home sounded like the perfect way to delay that crash.

It was a mere coincidence that his way home passed by the street where Parker’s new house was. Sort of a coincidence. Right now he would do anything just to keep doing something – so why not return to the place where all of this had started?

Nobody had locked the door when all of them left the house, in one way or another.

He stepped inside and pulled up the basement door.

His phone rang.

Nate didn’t beat around the bush. “Coddington just called me. He’s released Crystal Akineko. On an order from above. A ‘do it and don’t ask any questions’ sort of order. So he did it, and asked nothing. He’ll keep an eye on it and hopes we will tell him when we find something out about that woman.”

“I love the smell of the Government in the evening.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. Hardison is digging around as we speak. Okay, that’s it. I’m calling Sophie next. See you tomorrow.”

He hung up.

Before he reached the stairs, a soft ringing sounded behind him, from near the entrance.

“I’m with Eliot, Nate,” Sophie said. “Yes, I heard it. We’ll talk tomorrow. Night.”

He waited for her.

“I couldn’t just go home without checking this place for answers,” she said. “I hoped you’d be here, too. I’m not particularly fond of climbing down into that darkness on my own.”

He grinned instead of answering. It did wonders for his split lip.

This time, he turned on the lights when they climbed down.

The tiny apartment stood before them revealing all the little details they had missed the last time using only flashlight beams.

Behind the straw and a ghost skeleton stood a two foot tall Christmas tree.

Sophie went there first. He followed.

“Remember that Christmas back in Boston,” Sophie said, touching lightly the ornaments, “when she decorated the tree with five million dollars worth of loot, including the Lion of Gilgamesh? This tree has only ordinary decorations. No jewels.”

“That’s fascinating. But I would rather check the walls again. Maybe we missed some hole. Or even a sub-basement. What’s the best way to hide the sub-basement, than to open the first basement for inspection?” He thumped his foot on the floor. No echo. It sounded solid.

“I don’t think this is a heist.” Sophie passed the tree and stood by the washing machine. She lifted a piece of paper placed on it. ‘ _Washing machine. What goes in. What should come out. And things in between_ ’”, she read from the paper.

Eliot went to the fridge. The paper on it said: _What people keep in the fridge_. Below that, a long list of three columns divided food into three categories: _What I eat, What other people eat, What Eliot would eat if he had to feed a family different from us, a real one_.

He stared at it for almost a minute.

“Come here,” Sophie called from the other side of the kitchen. He hadn’t even noticed her passing by him.

She handed him a paper. ‘ _Apron usage in the kitchen – a case study_.’

The other papers she held had different topics. 

_Morning routine with breakfast. A – topics for a discussion. B – forbidden topics._

_Daily chores and why doing them is a good thing._

_Vacuum cleaner. Purpose and manual._

_Thoughts on kitchen appliances. Accent on WHAT NOT TO DO with kitchen appliances_.

_Blender challenge. What’s not for blending._

_Valentine’s Day – meaning, expected behavior, what to give. Forbidden gifts_.

Eliot followed one rope that went from the fridge to the TV. Every paper on it had a daily chore with a number, set in the right order to minimize any lost time.

“That’s enough,” Sophie said. Her voice was almost a whisper.

He turned to her, just to find her near the pictures sitting in frames.

She raised one. It was a drawing, done in simple pencil. Parker and Hardison together, cooking. The other one was also the two of them, reading in a big bed. The third one had Parker in apron making pancakes, Hardison in pajamas slicing the onion, and a cat sitting on the kitchen counter.

His throat tightened. He looked around, at the numerous papers, ropes, and pictures – to the polygon Parker had made to practice her life with Hardison.

“Hardison doesn’t want _this_ ,” Sophie blinked, trying hard not to cry. “She’s perfect for him, just the way she is. We have to find a way to stop her.”

“I wouldn’t.” This could bring no harm, and it could give her the confidence she clearly needed.

“After all, this is a heist, Eliot,” Sophie said. “She stole the Hope diamond, for Christ’s sake. Nothing is safe from her.”

“Meaning?”

“This time, she’s after the most precious loot of all. An ordinary life. And she’s going to get it, one way or another.

That was true. Parker was unstoppable.

Sophie lightly tapped on his arm. “Let’s go. We’ll lock the door.”

Yes, they should go. But what he was supposed to tell Hardison? Telling him about this would be betraying Parker’s trust. This was private. Something she didn’t want to share with Hardison.

“You tell him the truth,” Sophie said with a smile, again reading his thoughts without any trouble. “She’s only practicing. Like she always does. This is a polygon to sharpen her skills, and their life together has nothing to do with it. Nor is it in any danger.”

Yes. That would work.

He motioned with his hand, letting her climb first.

He had turned to the switch to turn the lights off when something else caught his eye.

George’s branch, stuck in a huge pot full of soil.

The paper on it read: _Esmeralda_.

He blinked once.

Esmeralda smiled and blinked back at him.

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
